“It sounds harder than it really is. Most of the rotters inside the city have been here for years, and they’re starting to get mushy.”

Zeke chimed in. “And most of them don’t run very fast.”

Rector held the pickax and looked over the side of the roof. “This is a god-awful way to get around your own neighborhood. And you two talk like it’s just an everyday thing, hacking people up and putting bars through their eyeballs.”

Houjin muttered, “Don’t like it, don’t have to stay here.”

“I’ll get used to it,” Rector countered.

He hefted the pickax and followed him over to the roof’s eastern edge, where a drawbridge was laid out flat and ready. It groaned beneath their feet, and small splinters of old paint and decaying wood went dusting down to the dangerous, deserted streets below as they crossed.

Chapter 14

Fourteen

They walked single file through more windows turned into doors, navigating along balconies and over storefronts for eight blocks until they were forced to drop to the ground and sprint across one street and down into a storm cellar. Then they went up through an empty grocer’s, scaled more stairs, and emerged on another roof, only to trip lightly down another long bridge made of doors.

These makeshift devices swayed under their feet enough that more than once the boys agreed to cross one at a time, so as to not strain the walkway.

Finally they ran out of structures; there were no more roofs or bridges to hold them aloft. Without a word, they scooted down an old iron ladder that had once been part of a fire escape. Its rusted bolts creaked, and as they descended foot by foot, hand by hand, brick dust rained down onto the dead grass and cracked streets below.

When they had no choice except to speak, they whispered.

“I’ll light the lantern,” Rector breathed. His voice was shaking, and so were his hands.

Equally quietly, Houjin said, “No.” He put a hand on Rector’s arm.

Rector yanked it away. “Why not? It’s getting dark.”

“No, it’s not,” Zeke joined in. “We’re coming up to the wall. We’re in its shadow.”

Looking up, and squinting hard—through his visor, and through the foggy air—Rector could see the great Seattle wall peeking past the thick yellow Blight. It loomed and leaned. It crowded him, all two hundred feet of it, cobbled from stone and mortar and anything solid that had been lying around when it was built.

If he’d had any breath left after riding and climbing and hiking the mile to get there, the view of the wall from here on the inside would’ve taken it all away.

“It’s still dark,” he murmured. “Still can’t hardly see.”

Houjin shook his head. “Wait until later. The light will only bounce off the fog. It’s hard to see out here no matter what you do.”

Zeke nudged Rector’s shoulder and said, “Trust us. We live here,” and he set off toward the wall.